


Swords Are Not Toys

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: M/M, giant robutts being dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crosshairs is fascinated by Drift's choice of weapon and does a poor job of hiding it.</p><p>(No TF4 spoilers for plot, but contains TF4 characters)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swords Are Not Toys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TekkaChama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TekkaChama/gifts).



Drift leaned back against the aging wall, folding his arms on his chassis as Crosshairs inched closer to his pair of resting swords. There was a glint in the gunner's optics that Drift knew well; tonight he was simply too relaxed to fight the incoming teases.  

Besides, Crosshairs' teases- if he refrained from commenting loudly on his ex-Con status- had sparked a tingling pleasantness Drift hadn't experienced in a very long time. And so he watched, silent and nonthreatening, as the gunner gripped one of the sleek handles and yanked. Crosshairs stumbled slightly, foot kicking up a cloud of dirt as he had to compensate for the immense weight. 

"They are not to be played with," Drift said quietly. He expected the defiant look, but the smirk sent another frisson down his backstruts. 

"Heavy buggers," Crosshairs muttered, optics wide with surprise as he held a sword aloft.  

Drift smiled serenely. 

"Stop starin' at me like that, it's creepy." Crosshairs paused long enough to frown at him, then swung the sword experimentally through the air. "Nice balance," he admitted grudgingly. 

 "They are modeled after the finest of their craft," Drift replied proudly. 

"Yeah. Still, ain't a gun," Crosshairs snorted as he picked up the other. "Gun's got range, y'know. Gun's got  _reliability_." 

Drift huffed softly. "I have heard no complaining from my kill count." 

"I'm still ahead'a ya, Frills," Crosshairs snorted, sweeping both swords around him clumsily. Drift's trained optics caught the inexcusable wobbling through the arcs, but decided to not comment. 

"It will be easy to take your lead," Drift scoffed. "Two is a very tiny number." 

"And yet, I've been in the lead for- what are the lunar cycles called again?" Crosshairs asked absently, slicing dangerously close to Drift's knee. 

"The proper term in this culture is month." 

"Been in the lead for four Earth months, so ha!" Crosshairs tossed him a grin, then jerked one sword in a downward thrust. "Four months, Drift, you goin' soft on me? Don't wanna go up against some old Con bud-  _Slag!_ " 

Drift watched impassively as the sword's weight continued it's arc, slicing neatly to embed into Crosshairs' foot. The gunner howled, moaning expletives as he vented puffs of steam, hopping angrily as he tried and failed twice to pull the sword loose. The accident couldn't have come at a better time; nothing moved Drift to anger faster than bringing up his past to throw in his face yet again. Even after all this time, his wound would not completely heal. Regret clung heavy to him, held at bay by adopting aspects of the Japanese culture he had come to admire so greatly. 

"I also do not run out ammo," Drift remarked calmly, his smile returning as Crosshairs glared at him. "My weapons are not for the unskilled, Crosshairs, which you seem to be leading in the category." 

"Shut up." Crosshairs limped and shoved the swords against the wall, Drift catching them before they could slide to the ground. " _Inelegant_ , that's what they are. Just like you." 

"Inelegant?" Drift rumbled, pushing himself to his feet and stalking toward the gunner with a grin. "Is that what you truly think of me?" 

Crosshairs backpedaled, but quickly ran out space, his hands curling into fists. "Stealthy ain't got  _nothing_ on straight-up power." 

"And you know all about power," Drift murmured, leaning close enough their EM fields flickered and fought against the other. "And yet, my sword has crippled you for the night. You are wounded. A liability, Crosshairs." 

The gunner stiffened, optics flaring angrily, but his tirade died in his throat as one of Drift's hands danced knowingly up his side. 

"Disabling the enemy is more effective than a straight kill," Drift hissed, digits edging under the armoured cloak and roughly dipping into transformation seams. "He becomes a liability to his own allies, slowing them down, messing with their psychology. Autobots care for each other, and that is both a strength and weakness. Something I can exploit too easily." 

Crosshairs vented harshly as he pushed Drift aside, wincing as he tested his weight. "No surprise there. I know  _you_ don't care." 

"Or perhaps..." Drift whispered, his hands settling on Crosshairs' waist from behind, "I care too much. And that scares me." 

They both froze, the sudden quiet pressing heavily on them as Drift's words reverberated internally. It was a mistake, Drift realised, a joke taken to serious depths he should not have traveled. He pulled back, his hands burning from the contact, about to apologise- 

"Me too, Frills." 

Drift watched in alarm as Crosshairs turned just enough to give him a haunted look, an echo of the roiling emotions he constantly locked away. In that moment he truly understood just how much they shared. 

Drift smiled and followed the limping gunner. "Let me bandage that." 

"M'fine." 

"Let me bandage it," Drift insisted, catching Crosshairs' waist in his hand again as he leaned in. "And I may 'kiss it to make it better', as the humans do." 

"...Wouldn't say no to that," Crosshairs huffed happily.


End file.
